


caffeine coincidences

by sweetwatersong



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Caffeine Addiction, Coffee, Collecting Strays, F/M, Farmhouse of Love, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-17
Updated: 2016-01-17
Packaged: 2018-05-14 14:03:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,647
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5747188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sweetwatersong/pseuds/sweetwatersong
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The rule of thumb is that you never send Clint out for coffee. It exists for a reason and is universally agreed to by all parties interested in one ragtag archer with a) a smart mouth, b) an often-broken nose with a grin to match, and c) impeccably bad timing. If you’re thinking of breaking the rule, you should know there is a good precedent for why that’s a terrible idea.</p><p>Laura Barton loves her coffee and her husband. The two of them, however, don't go together without consequences.</p>
            </blockquote>





	caffeine coincidences

**Author's Note:**

> All the love to andibeth82, whose response when I mentioned this idea was "DO IT."

The rule of thumb is that you never send Clint out for coffee. It exists for a reason and is universally agreed to by all parties interested in one ragtag archer with a) a smart mouth, b) an often-broken nose with a grin to match, and c) impeccably bad timing. If you’re thinking of breaking the rule, you should know there is a good precedent for why that’s a terrible idea.

Scratch that; there are _precedents_ , plural.

* * *

Laura isn’t privy to even the most basic SHIELD intel; it’s a side effect of not existing, as SHIELD is concerned (Nick Fury notwithstanding). But she doesn’t need to read the briefs or background details to pick little things up when Clint is assigned a new mission. This one, this one makes his mouth twist like he’s drinking something dark and bitter, like he’s being forced to take care of the dregs left behind when everyone else has had their share of the brew.

“It’s a coffee run,” Clint tells her as he finishes zipping up his duffel, a smile on his lips that doesn’t belong there, a code name for the mission that she doesn’t know how to interpret. His eyes are shadowed, though, and Laura brushes a kiss against his cheek.

“Make sure you bring some back for me,” she says. “You know me and coffee.”

“Yeah, I do.” This time the smile shifts into something genuine. “I’ll try.”

Six days later Clint arrives in mid-afternoon with a duffel just as worse for the wear as he is and a sheepish grin. “I don’t think it’s exactly what you meant, but the baristas got the order wrong,” he says after he finds her in the garden, and Laura’s about to ask him to explain when a red-haired young woman ghosts into view around the corner of the house. “She needs a place to stay for a little while. Think we can turn out the old guest room?”

Laura, dirt now smeared across not only her hands but Clint’s shirt, does her best to give Clint dual meaningful looks: one being, _I’m glad you’re home safely_ , and the other, _but couldn’t you have given me a head’s up?_ Apparently the wires get crossed because he doesn’t seem to read either message. (The stranger, on the other hand, looks suddenly much more amused. Which is to say she looks amused at all.)

“Of course. Hello; I’m Laura, Clint’s wife.”

“This is Natalia,” Clint says at the same that the woman says, “Natasha.” “Uh. Shit, that’s right, I’m sorry-”

Laura and Natalia/Natasha exchange glances, then look at Clint, who is still trying to find his footing. “This is where I refrain from making another bad barista joke about names and your top-secret missions,” Laura informs him. She catches Natasha’s flash of a smile out of the corner of her eye. “Natasha, come on in, we’ll let my husband get his foot out of his mouth and figure things out eventually. I hope you don’t mind pink, we haven’t gotten around to repainting the guest room yet…”

* * *

Laura stares at her cabinets with her fists on her hips, fighting the urge to be very uncharitable. She understands her husband’s need for caffeine at strange hours, she really does. But _he_ also understands that she isn’t human until she’s had her first two cups and right now a cupboard bare on Mother Hubbard levels is making it clear that her last, carefully rationed supply of coffee is gone.

“Clint?” She calls, careful to keep her voice from descending into the growl that will upset Cooper where he gurgles in his high chair. This at least answers the mystery of how awake Clint had been after a long day of driving. Well, if he keeps her up to all hours celebrating his return, he can very well make sure she gets her caffeine fix the extremely early morning after.

“Yeah?” Smart man; his response is cautious, searching for the trouble he’s bound to get into. It’s a well-established fact that if she strings more than three words together before breakfast, trouble is a given.

“Did you happen to pick up some coffee on your way back yesterday?”

The question hangs in the air long enough to make his answer clear. It’s broken by the sound of feet thumping into shoes and a jacket being pulled out of the closet.

“You like the roast Cuppa Poe sells, right?” Clint asks, coming up behind her shoulder. Laura only nods after he’s pressed a kiss to her hair. It’s hard to stay angry with him most days, but the sad collection of black tea staring back at her is a good incentive.

“I’ll grab a few bags.” He pauses, assesses the situation like the well-trained agent everyone claims him to be, and adds, “Looks like it’ll be a nice day for a walk. A chance to stretch my legs after the trip.”

“Mm hm.”

He kisses her temple. “Love you.”

Laura sighs. “I love you too. Enjoy the sunshine.”

The tea tides her over to the point that when she spies Clint walking up the dusty driveway an hour later she’s actually glad to see him, and not solely so he can refresh his hard-earned potty-training skills. But he’s not alone; there’s also a very ragged, very happy Lab bouncing alongside him, wagging his entire body as if it’s the best day in the entire world.

The bag of chocolate-covered espresso beans is an acceptable apology for the coffee. The dog is under negotiation.

* * *

The rule becomes A Thing. Everyone understands that you never let Clint go for coffee because he inevitably picks up some sort of stray along the way. They always go on to become embedded in SHIELD or spend a night at the farmhouse or take up residence at apartments in town or get entered into the Witness Protection Program. (The last one’s a long story.)

The moral of _this_ story, however, is that you follow the rule. Things happen when you don’t.

* * *

She knows better, she really does, but everything coffee-related has been banished from the farmhouse because even the smell of it has been driving her up a wall. It’s worth it; she made it through with Cooper and she can do it with Lila. It’s just the “If you give a mouse a cookie” problem; one cup leads to two, two leads to four, and that leads to _all_ sorts of problems.

“You are very lucky that Mama loves you this much,” Laura tells an oblivious Lila. “And that I’ve had practice.”

Clint, seated at the kitchen table with his head propped on one hand and deep bags under his eyes, starts to respond. She doesn’t get to hear the dirty innuendo of the day, however, because his quip is interrupted by a huge yawn. As if in response Lila, the cause of his exhaustion, yawns too. Lila’s is much cuter, Laura has to admit.

“Tea isn’t cutting it?” She asks with more sympathy than she might have a few years before. It’s amazing what changes toddler-aged children can make in your life.

He shakes his head, nearly dropping it off of his hand. Laura relents.

“Go get something to drink.” His reaction when he perks up is so much like Lucky hearing the treats shake that she nearly laughs. “I’m serious. Enjoy it for me.”

“You’re sure?” Clint asks, but he’s already getting up and snagging the car keys off the counter. She really did marry a smart man.

“I’m sure. But make sure to brush your teeth before you come back!” She calls after him, only partially joking. It’s only when the car starts and begins backing down the driveway that she realizes he went out with his Hello Kitty slippers on.

Oh, well, it’s not like the people in town will judge him for it. Natasha, on the other hand, will delight in knowing her gag gift is getting so much mileage.

“Mommy, mommy!” Cooper says, waving one of Lucky’s chew toys with the dog himself in eager attendance, waiting to play, and Laura does her best to put coffee out of her mind.

In between taking care of Cooper, feeding Lila, and wrangling most of the mess scattered around the house back into the playroom, Laura doesn’t notice how late it gets. Eventually, though, she looks up at the sound of a returning car and frowns at the clock that says it’s been a good two hours. What in the world has he been up to?

Silly question, actually, given his occupation as a secret agent; at any point he can be up to anything, anywhere in the world. Usually, though, Natasha it's there to make sure he comes in one piece.

The answer this time turns out to be an convertible that broke down just around the bend from the farmhouse, stranding its owner in one of the not-infrequent dead spots still scattered throughout Iowa. Laura has to go stand in the east playroom if she wants to make sure her calls won’t drop.

“We have to wait around for a tow truck anyway and I figured it was almost lunch time, so…” Clint shrugs, one grease-stained hand rubbing the back of his head as he introduces Laura to a young Asian woman who eyes her just as closely as a SHIELD agent would. Given that her husband is still wearing Hello Kitty slippers, Laura doesn’t blame her.

“It’s nice to meet you, Kate,” she says, and snags Cooper’s shirt when he tries to get take down his dad with a flying tackle. “Ah ah ah, no engine oil for you today, mister. Come on in and make yourself at home.”

Right. There are reasons for the rule.

* * *

Somehow Laura isn’t surprised to find out that babysitting is well within the realm of things this new team of Avengers is good at. Natasha goes without saying, of course, but it’s still a pleasant surprise to find Colonel Rhodes assembling Lego forts with Lila (discussions of strategy and positioning included) or Sam Wilson working out the finer points of flying with Cooper. During their impromptu “R&R break” the three Avengers have been more than willing to step in and give her a hand, which mostly covers feeding and entertaining her two oldest. And since Clint is in charge of Nate this morning, Laura meanders downstairs at a luxurious eight a.m.

“Good morning,” Natasha greets her from the kitchen table, a gently steaming cup of tea cradled in her hands. There’s an identical cup sitting at the seat next to her, chamomile wafting into the air over the pervasive scent of coffee (her concession to hosting superheroes), and a small nod tells Laura it’s for her. She smiles.

“It is indeed,” she answers, settling herself down. “Does anyone know where my husband’s gotten off to?”

“He said he was going to pick up a delivery.” Sam comes around the corner cradling a bright-eyed Nate. “Something about Thor and coffee.”

Laura and Nat start.

“No coffee runs!” They snap in unison. Sam stops and stares at them, caught off-guard by their response.

“Okay, there’s clearly a story there, and I’m not sure I want to know what it is. Just leery me know how much trouble I'm in and we're good.”

“You didn’t tell them?” Laura asks Natasha, playing at being aggrieved. The Avenger shrugs a shoulder.

“He’s retired. There didn’t seem to be a point.”

“Maybe that will break the curse," Laura mutters.

Nat smiles at that. “He wasn’t an Avenger when he recruited me.”

In response Laura lifts her cup and prepares to ignore reality for another moment; something is going to happen sooner or later, now. It’s only thanks to chance that she takes just a sip before a bright flash breaks through the front windows, making her swallow in surprise. But the two Avengers have already assessed the danger before she turns and it’s their relaxation that lets her breathe again.

“The Bifrost,” Nat says by way of explanation. “The Asgardians don’t know how to do much without the light show. Sublety is not their forte.“

“Your lawn might be worse for the wear, but other than that it’s a pretty neat trick,” Sam adds. “Pretty awesome lights, right, Nate? But let me tell you, man, if you want to see some sights, you’ve gotta go flying.”

“Stop trying to get my children into the air, Sam,” Laura says automatically, her mind on the new issue at hand. She nods to herself, exhales, and rises. “Well, if we’ve got royal visitors, I better go greet them. Good thing I already put on real clothes.”

But it’s not an Asgardian at all being greeted by Clint and a wildly enthusiastic Lucky. It’s a very bemused young woman who looks familiar: Wanda Maximoff, one of the Avengers who has been left on duty at the new base. Laura glances at Clint, a question in her eyes, and gets an answer in his subtle shake of his head; her arrival doesn’t herald an emergency. Instead of a call to arms, she’s handing Clint a strangely designed machine.

“Thor sends his regards,” the red-robed Avengers says in a soft voice, smiling. “He hopes it is to your satisfaction, and wishes you all the best.”

“Thanks, Wanda.” Clint grins back at her. “I owe you one, and I’ll pay in pancakes. Hungry?”

“You’ve never seen an Asgardian feast, have you,” she asks in reply, but she follows as Clint meets Laura on the porch. He presents her with the odd object with all the solemnity of a great gift.

“Here.”

She takes the intricate machine gingerly, unsure of where she can hold it without setting it off. “Thank you. You shouldn’t have.”

Clint grins at her unabashedly. “Turns out the Asgardians have the same kind of low caffeine diet during pregnancy. Only, what with their lives lasting so long, they figured out a way around it. Thor says this can make their equivalent of coffee that won’t affect Nate at all. Four cups or more and you’re still completely fine.”

Laura stares at him for a long moment, absorbing what he’s said. “You found me coffee?”

“I found you coffee,” he confirms, still smiling. Laura very carefully hands the _baby-friendly coffee machine_ (she savors the words) to Natasha before turning back to her husband.

Whatever he’s expecting, it’s not the kiss that conveys exactly how appreciative she is of his thoughtfulness.

Someone lapses into a coughing fit that sounds surprisingly like laughter behind her. Wilson, by the sound of it. Nate coos in response and Laura considers breaking the kiss off, decides not to -

“I think Wanda was promised pancakes in the near future,” Nat says mildly. All right. Laura lets Clint go, enjoying the dazed look in his eyes.

“You’re cooking,” she tells him.

“All right,” he agrees. She can probably say anything and get him to agree with her right now.

“And I’m making coffee. Wanda, did they show you how to do it? Welcome to the farm, by the way, and thank you. And, for future reference, anyone who touches this without my permission is going to face my wrath.”

“I think she likes it,” Clint says to Nat. Her lips quirk.

“You think so? I couldn’t tell.”

Laura has her first real cup of coffee in eleven months that morning, treasuring it like the gift it is. But it’s not the Asgardian coffee that’s truly special; no, sitting at her table and watching her husband and his merry band of strays and children serve up pancakes like the world’s most super-powered diner, Laura knows it’s something else entirely.

Well, maybe it is the coffee. It's making a good case for the honor.

Mm, coffee.

* * *

The rule still applies, magic coffee machine or not.


End file.
